


A Taste of Normalcy

by lily_winterwood



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Comedic Violence, Dark Comedy, Jewish Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Murder and Mayhem, Other warnings in notes, Santa Clarita Diet AU, Suburbia, Zombie Comedy, offhanded references to graphic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 01:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21262652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: If someone had asked Viktor Nikiforov just last week if he’d ever anticipated his life taking a sharp detour off its calm suburban existence into a ravine of murder and mayhem, he would have laughed in their face. Right now, however, he’s just trying to get deep enough to bury these pieces of their neighbour, and hoping to god no one else decides to come out onto this dark and undeveloped land at half past midnight.In which retired champion figure skaters and now coaches Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki bite off a little more than they can chew. Santa Clarita Diet AU, written forIn The Dark of Night.





	A Taste of Normalcy

**Author's Note:**

> It's Halloween! So in the spirit of the season, have the piece I wrote for the YOI Horror Zine! I've wanted to do a Santa Clarita Diet AU for quite a while and I've finally gotten the time to upload it, real life has been kicking my ass lately... 
> 
> Other things to note in this piece: jokes about implied necrophilia, jokes about cannibalism, cannibalism (but does it count if a zombie is doing it? jury's out), mentions of racism. Let me know if there's anything else I missed! 
> 
> Happy Halloween, folks!

There are a lot of things in the universe Viktor Nikiforov doesn’t know about. Questions he doesn’t have the answer to, mysteries he can’t solve. But the thing currently throwing him for a loop is the inherently fickle nature of change. And what’s making him realise that is the fact that he is currently up to his knees in a hole somewhere out in the Californian desert, covered in blood and sweat and dirt, and burying a body with his husband Yuuri. 

If someone had asked him just last week if he’d ever anticipated his life taking a sharp detour off its calm suburban existence into a ravine of murder and mayhem, he would have laughed in their face. Right now, however, he’s just trying to get deep enough to bury these pieces of their neighbour, and hoping to god no one else decides to come out onto this dark and undeveloped land at half past midnight. 

“We really should have tried to find the lid,” his husband remarks from next to him. Viktor very nearly gives in to his urge to scream.

“Honey, I was a little more preoccupied with trying to scoop what’s left of Mickey into a box to be buried out in the middle of the desert,” he says in as sweet a tone as he can manage. Next to him, Yuuri’s hands still briefly on his shovel. Viktor can sense the Look without even seeing it — Yuuri has honed that mixture of exasperated and disdainful to a fine point during their years together, and every once in a while he takes it out and stabs Viktor with it. 

“It’s a miracle we didn’t make more of a mess in the trunk, then,” Yuuri declares, though his tone suggests he’s going to be scrubbing the back with bleach for a while later. Viktor personally would just like to burn their clothes and be done with it already. “Trust Mickey to go out leaving a stain on everything he touches.”

Viktor can’t really argue that point. The illegality and immorality of murder aside, at least his husband had the good taste to pick the least favourite neighbour of the two cops they had the misfortune to live between. Detective Chulanont of the Hasetsu Beach PD could only be summed up in one word: sunshine. Which meant, of course, that Viktor could never tell him exactly what he was up to tonight.

“I still can’t believe you disemboweled our neighbour,” he mutters, for lack of a better conversation topic. Yuuri stabs into the ground with a bit more viciousness than before, determinedly not looking at Viktor. 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he admits. “It just… everything happened so quickly.”

“First you threw up all over the ice, then you collapsed pulseless in a puke-stained locker room for three minutes before waking up and sassing Yurio into cleaning it up, then you dragged me into a storage closet for a quickie despite having lost your pulse and three times the contents of your stomach just an hour before?” Viktor doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so heated, but the events of the past forty-eight hours are finally starting to sink in. “Then you finally decided to get those Louboutins you’d been eying the last ten times we went to the mall, as well as five other fashion pieces I didn’t even realise you wanted. _ Then _ you went to a bar, danced it up with Sara, and punched Mickey in the face when he tried to get you to stop. He followed you home, and you ate him. Was that the timeline we just went through? Or did I completely miss something?”

“No, I just — I know what _ happened_!” Yuuri leans on his shovel, wiping a smudge of blood across his brow as he tries to push his hair out of his eyes. Viktor shouldn’t find that as sexy as he does. “I just can’t believe it was me who did that.”

“Perfect defense, will definitely hold up in court,” declares Viktor, just as the sound of an approaching car engine echoes in the distance. “Fuck. Let’s drop the body in.”

“Do we… pour it in from the box? Or are we dropping the box in, too?”

Viktor groans. “What the hell are you going to do with a bloodstained box, Yuuri? File bloody taxes?” The car in the distance is now cresting over the hill. Viktor can already see the rest of his life playing out in front of him: jail, then court, then prison for the rest of his life. He’ll never get to see Yuuri again, or Makkachin, or a decent bottle of shampoo — 

“Calm down and act natural,” Yuuri suggests. Viktor can’t help but laugh at that.

“Natural?” he wheezes. “Yes, hello, just your friendly neighbourhood murderers, out in the middle of nowhere dumping a body. Nothing to see here.”

“I don’t see you coming up with anything better,” retorts Yuuri. “Just say we came across this dismembered body and decided to bury it!”

“Definitely not suspicious at all,” Viktor mutters, but as the headlights flash over them, he beams just as brightly. “Hi!” he yells, shielding his eyes. “This isn’t what it looks like, we swear!”

The lights dim a little, as Yuri Plisetsky peers out of the car with a scowl. “I’m going to love whatever dumbass explanation you’ve got for those new shoes and clothes and that bloodstained lawn out back,” he declares. “I brought Beka. Let’s hurry up before someone else comes.”

* * *

“So it’s real?” Yuri asks, several hours and a change of clothes later. Viktor has to admit, he’s going to miss the colours on his shirt, now that the poor thing’s being bleached bone white in the kitchen. 

Otabek Altin straightens up from where he’d been listening to Yuuri’s chest with a stethoscope, and nods. “No heartbeat,” he verifies. Viktor feels the beginnings of a headache coming on. “How do you _ feel_, Mr Katsuki?”

“Please, it’s Y_uu_ri,” declares Yuuri, reaching out to tangle his fingers with the stethoscope. “And I feel just fine,” he adds with a grin, tugging Otabek a little closer. Viktor clears his throat.

“They had sex in a storage closet at the rink,” Yuri grumbles, his cheeks bright pink. Otabek raises an eyebrow. 

“So he’s undead,” he begins, causing Viktor to grimace. For someone who’s brought Viktor life and love ever since their first meeting, death really doesn’t suit Yuuri at all. “It explains the lack of pulse and the sudden impulsive behaviours, as well as the…” Here, Otabek clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable, “appetite for human flesh. He’s a zombie.”

“He doesn’t look like a zombie,” Yuri points out. 

“I’m right here,” Yuuri snaps. “I can hear you guys talking about me.”

“Is there a cure?” interjects Viktor before Yuri can retort. 

Otabek shrugs as he puts the stethoscope back into his bag. “Honestly, I don’t think medical science is even ready to find out zombies exist, let alone cure them,” he admits. “He seems to be fine right now, but if he goes on a murderous rampage, we’ll have to go all _ Walking Dead _ on him.” 

Viktor’s confusion must have shown on his face, because Otabek and Yuri look at one another before Yuri sighs and aims a finger gun at Yuuri’s forehead. “Headshot. Bam.”

“We’re not doing that,” Viktor says immediately. Yuri snorts.

“Okay, then what’s your brilliant plan to stop the zombie apocalypse?”

Viktor shakes his head. “First off, one person being a zombie does not a zombie apocalypse make —”

“But there’s probably more than just him,” Otabek points out. “People don’t just turn into zombies for no reason. Has Yuuri done anything that could put him at risk of getting a virus?”

“I’m still here,” Yuuri growls. “And no, not that I remember.”

“He had the clam surprise at Carbosse’s,” Viktor replies immediately. 

Yuri raises an eyebrow. “That’s weird,” he says. “We’ll have to look into that, but in — what the hell are you doing?” 

Yuuri, who’d moved away from the living room couch into the kitchen, looks back from the fridge like a deer caught in the headlights of a venison company’s sixteen-wheeler. “I’m hungry again?” he asks, taking out a packet of frozen ground beef from the fridge. 

“Okay, that’s disgusting,” says Yuri, his nose wrinkling. “Could you maybe not —”

The sound of crunching interrupts him, followed by Yuuri’s expression taking on a sheen of ashen disgust, followed by retching noises into the sink. 

“Yuuri?” Viktor rushes to his side, but Yuuri is already washing away the contents of the sink and running the garbage disposal, grimacing as he does. “Honey, maybe you should’ve defrosted —”

“It tastes old,” Yuuri complains, shoving the ground meat back into the freezer pack.

“We can try something fresh,” Viktor soothes, patting his husband’s back. “We’ll get through this.”

* * *

“I don’t know if we’re gonna get through this,” Yuuri admits as he stares balefully at the piece of freshly-bought pork from the grocery store that Viktor is slicing into bite-size pieces. 

“You love pork, though,” Viktor points out, skewering one of the pieces with a toothpick. “It’s the key ingredient in katsudon.”

“Yeah, but the smell…” Yuuri grimaces. “It’s just not the same, you know?”

“I don’t,” replies Viktor blithely as he hands the pork cube to his husband. “Just think of this as a zombie vegan nugget. It’s not exactly the same, but it’ll be close, right?”

Yuuri’s nose wrinkles, but he opens his mouth to accept it anyway. He chews it for a couple minutes, before spitting it out into a napkin. Viktor sighs.

“Yeah, that’s what I feel like doing every time Chris tries to feed me vegan nuggets, too.” He pushes the cutting board towards the stove. “More pork cubes for Yurio, then!”

Yuuri sighs, fiddling with his fingers. “I’m not doing this on purpose, I swear,” he says, misery evident in his voice.

Viktor nods, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “I know, but how are we going to hide this from Phichit? Or your mother? Especially if you —” 

“Start killing people?” wonders Yuuri. Viktor nods mutely. “I’ll do it at the storage unit. You don’t have to get involved, if you don’t want — just say you didn’t know anything if I fuck this up and get caught —”

“Yuuri, we’re married,” Viktor says, taking his hand. “Fucking up and getting caught together is the entire point of marriage. I’m coming with you.”

* * *

Viktor had no idea Costco even carried stuff like tarps and industrial-strength bleach.

“If I _ have _ to eat, you know —” Yuuri grimaces, as they push their cart down the aisle. “I might as well pick someone who won’t be missed, right? Someone who does bad things, like… gives drugs to kids. Or cuts in line at Starbucks.”

“Honey, we’re not going to murder assholes who inconvenience you.”

“You wanted to frame Brad’s mom for possession,” Yuuri accuses. Viktor hushes him.

“Brad’s mom tried to sue us because Yurio punched Brad for saying figure skating is girly. And she’s jealous that my nana’s challah gets more buyers at the PTA bake sale than her box-mixed banana bread,” he sniffs. “It’s completely different.”

“Sounds like you want me to eat Brad’s mom, but okay.” Yuuri plucks out a poncho. “So we kill someone who has it coming. Someone despicable. Like…a Neo Nazi. That’s basically the zombie equivalent of a guilt-free cupcake.” He bites down thoughtfully on the plastic wrap, a dazed glaze appearing in his eyes. Viktor sighs. 

“Are you_ sure _ it’s the human part?” he pleads. “I mean, maybe it’s the freshness part. The blood. The rush of the, you know. _ Rrr_.” He claws at the air. “We could go out to the farm and get a chicken. Or a pig, or something you can chase down to eat.”

Yuuri shakes his head, leaning his head on Viktor’s shoulder. “You remember that time we were in Barcelona for the Grand Prix Final with Yurio? And we went to that paella restaurant near the beach?” Viktor nods, and Yuuri sighs dreamily. “I’m just imagining how good that waiter would taste right now.”

Viktor takes the poncho from his husband, placing it in the cart. “Maybe there’s another way,” he says after a moment. “But we’ll have to do it after practice.”

* * *

“Is there no other way?” Yuuri whispers as Viktor knocks on the door of the morgue, long after their practice at the rink with Yurio. “The formaldehyde is just… it’s going to mess up my palate. I can taste it.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Viktor declares, as the door swings open and a man with sandy brown hair and a goatee pokes his head out. “Hi! You’ve got, uh, bodies, right?” 

“Generally what you’d find at a morgue, yes,” the man replies, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What brings you two here?” 

“We need a body,” replies Viktor.

The man arches an eyebrow. “What do you plan to do with it?” he wonders. Viktor and Yuuri look at one another. 

“We’re running a haunted house,” Yuuri flusters, at the same time as Viktor’s “none of your business.”

The man rolls his eyes. “I’ve heard worse,” he says. “I got some unclaimed stuff.” He holds out a hand. “Cost you a hundred at the door, though.”

Viktor reaches for his wallet. “How much for a body?”

“Five grand,” replies the man. Viktor has a suspicion he’s done this before. Next to him, Yuuri’s stomach growls. 

“What can I get for three hundred?” Viktor asks, holding up the bills. 

“I got a dick in there somewhere,” says the man. “You know, if you’re into vampires.”

Yuuri fidgets. Viktor bares his teeth in a barely passable smile, and shoves the money forward. “You got anything else?” he demands.

* * *

‘Anything else’ turns out to be a foot, wrapped in plastic. Yuuri holds it up in their car, grimacing. “Yeah, the formaldehyde’s gonna murder my palate,” he mutters.

“Okay, Hannibal Lecter,” replies Viktor. “Bon appetit.”

Yuuri sniffs the foot, then gingerly takes a bite. He grimaces through it, closing his eyes like he’s trying to swallow a retch. Viktor’s stomach sinks. Yuuri pauses before going for another bite.

“Delicious,” he deadpans, in a voice that clearly suggests the opposite. The long-awaited headache bursts into brilliant stars behind Viktor’s eyes. 

“Just eat the damn foot,” he mutters, the hand still on the steering wheel now gripping it with white-knuckled intensity. It’s not the most expensive meal they’ve ever had, especially considering the days before they retired to coach Yurio full-time, but it still feels like it. Like Yuuri’s retching up millions of dollars and doesn’t seem to care at all. 

But he does. Viktor knows it, in the miserable slope of his shoulders, the downcast shame in his eyes. And he knows that’s even worse than failing to eat a dead person’s foot. He’d spent the past several days denying the truth, denying that this is their new normal. 

Yuuri’s a zombie, but that doesn’t make Viktor love him any less. Til death do us part may be in the vows, but Viktor’s always known it’d take more than death to part them. He sighs, and starts backing the car out of the darkened lot. 

“We’ll ask Phichit about a sex offenders registry,” he suggests. “We’ll find some way.”

“I’m a monster,” Yuuri says, looking down at the foot. “I should just… go away.”

“No one’s going anywhere,” Viktor replies vehemently, and though he can’t see it, he knows Yuuri’s smiling. The moment is short-lived, though, as their car bumps into the car in front of them at the stoplight. The driver curses, causing Yuuri to raise an eyebrow.

“You barely got him,” he says, even as the driver yells at them to pull over. Viktor follows him, nearly getting a fist to his face as he steps out.

“That’s a ten thousand dollar paint job you just ruined, fuckface!” the driver screeches. Viktor’s tempted to point out that they barely hit him, but the man already seems on the verge of homicide, and he’s had quite enough murder for the day. “You’re going to pay for that, you and your little yellow chi —”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” Yuuri’s voice suddenly snaps from next to him. 

“Go back to China,” retorts the man, before Yuuri seizes him by the throat. His husband’s expression is almost_ begging_. Viktor looks at the man’s Confederate belt buckle and 1488-emblazoned vanity plates, and nods. 

“I’ll get the tarps,” he says, and promptly turns at the sound of screaming.

* * *

“This is the best idea you’ve had in the past couple days,” Yuuri declares hours later, as he looks up from the arm he’s eating. Viktor pats the lid of the freezer, and smiles. 

“We can put in more lights, a rug, make it feel more like home,” he says, as Yuuri slouches against the old couch. A splatter of viscera hits the tarp covering the pleather. Viktor exhales in relief. “We’ll just keep all of the murder tucked away here.”

“Like every other good serial killer,” remarks Yuuri. Viktor rolls his eyes. 

“So, how does it taste?” he asks. Yuuri moans. “Probably not kosher, then.”

“I’m sure your god can make an exception for this,” Yuuri retorts before biting back into the arm. Viktor pointedly looks away, but he’s smiling.

There may be a lot of things in this universe that he doesn’t understand, and change may be a constant he’s always adjusting to, but Yuuri will always be part of the answer, part of the bedrock that anchors his life. And if Yuuri wants them to traverse this strange and terrifying new ravine together, Viktor will do it gladly, with minimal complaining. 

Yuuri’s phone buzzes suddenly, and he opens it with a bloodied finger. For a moment, he reads, before stiffening. “Fuck. Phichit says the sheriff’s office found out Mickey’s gone missing.”

Viktor’s headache roars back in full force. “Fantastic,” he mutters, and promptly faints. 


End file.
